


Turpentine and Chamomile

by butterflyweb



Category: Glee
Genre: Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Infidelity, M/M, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 15:48:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15643923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflyweb/pseuds/butterflyweb
Summary: “I told you, Sebastian, I have a boyfriend.” The last word is stressed meaningfully.Raising his eyebrows in mock offense, Sebastian gestures grandly to the cooling latte in front of him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just here for the coffee."Blaine scoffs, but he is obviously amused. “And the not-so-subtle glances at my ass?”Sebastian gives in to a genuine smile. “I’m not blind, babe.”Day 7: Secret Affair





	Turpentine and Chamomile

The windows are dark.

Tapping an anxious one-two beat on the steering wheel, Sebastian forces himself to exhale, even as he lets his eyes drop back to the glowing numbers on the dash. He’s early. He knows he is, there’s no reason to suspect anything’s gone wrong. There’s still plenty of time yet.

He keeps the keys in the ignition nonetheless, lights off and doors unlocked. He’s taken every precaution he can think of, parked two doors down, a story at the ready, rechecked and rehearsed should a nosy neighbor be playing watchdog.

It’s going to be fine. It’s going to work.

It has to work.

+

It starts like this.

+

Rain is coming down in sheets, soaking through his shoes, sliding down the back of his coat and adding a fun new twist to his already foul mood. So much for the clear skies and mild spring temperature that the weatherman had predicted this morning. Asshole. Channel Four News is an official write-off.

Sebastian curses as he narrowly dodges the splashback from a passing car, deciding to give the whole thing up as bad job when he sees a café up ahead. Screw it. He hasn’t seen a cab with its lights on for blocks and the deluge is obviously not letting up anytime soon. The guys will either understand, or they won’t, that’s that.

Pushing through the door, Sebastian fights a grimace at the cheery jingle of the bell. Charming. But it’s warm, and dry, and the strong aroma of ground coffee beans is like a panacea. He can already feel the tightness in his shoulders start to ease.

Sebastian steps up to the counter, trying his best to shrug off his coat and still hold on to his satchel. He hardly registers the pleasant “What can I get for you?” as he does a quick scan of the menu.

“Can I have a flat white, medium…” and what the hell, “with a shot of Courvoisier?”

“…the cognac?”

His eyes roll so hard he can  _ feel  _ it.  _ No, the maple syrup,  _ snaps to his tongue, only to die on his lips as Sebastian looks up into the most gorgeous pair of hazel eyes he’s ever seen.

_ Christ. _

Dark, curly hair spills over the man’s forehead, just stopping short of a strong brow and those  _ eyes _ . Clean-shaven, with a full pink mouth and an ever-so-slightly crooked nose, and it’s been a long time since a man has stopped Sebastian in his tracks like this.

“Uh…yeah,” he gets out, finally managing to fold his coat over his arm.

The barista gives him a small moue of empathy. “That kind of a day, huh?” He shifts to his elbows on the counter, head tilted a little, and  _ smiles.  _ Jesus. Sebastian wishes he had even the slightest clue as to what his own face was doing. “Then I’m sorry to make it worse, but what we have in biscotti, we lack in a liquor license.”

Sebastian clears his throat, feels his systems starting to kick back on, if slowly. “Shame. It was all I could drink when I lived in Paris.”

And, okay, maybe that is a line he hasn’t pulled out since he was sweet-talking boys in uniform, but it’s gratifying to see it still has some punch as the barista’s eyebrows lift. They’re shaped like little triangles. It’s stupidly cute.

“Paris, huh?” That smile again. Sebastian wants to kiss it off his face. “Well, I’ll tell you what. As an apology for being such an uncultured American,” he pushes back off the counter, moving to grab a cup. “I’ll throw in a free shot of espresso.”

It’s an opening, and as smooth as silk, Sebastian feels a smirk slide onto his lips. “Honestly? I’d rather have a name and number.”

A moment’s hesitation as golden eyes widen, and then payoff. The brunet flushes deeply, his easy manner folding with a bashful duck of the head, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. It’s gorgeous,  _ he’s _ gorgeous, and Sebastian’s ready to tell him just how pretty that blush is when it comes.

“It’s…uh, it’s Blaine. And that’s really nice of you, but I have a boyfriend. “ A little shrug, his,  _ Blaine’s _ eyes full of sincerity, even as the pink is still in his cheeks.

Five years ago, he would’ve scoffed at the brush-off, maybe rejoined with a sly “doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you.” But Sebastian likes to think he’s grown as a person since his teen years,  turned over a new leaf even. At least gotten a better sense of when to keep it in his pants.

But it doesn’t stop him from clicking his tongue in disappointment, gaze dragging down Blaine’s front and back up to his eyes, holding there until that flush comes back. “That’s a damn shame. I guess I’ll have to settle for the espresso.”

Grown as a person, yes. Had a personality transplant, no.

It gets a soft huff of a laugh from Blaine, the other man snatching a marker from the register and scrawling the order over the cardboard cup. “Oui, monsieur,” he sasses back, and a damn shame doesn’t even beginning to cover it. “Name for the order?”

“Sebastian.”

The rain’s let up by the time the hot cup is pressed into his hand, and a new batch of customers has grabbed Blaine’s attention, but Sebastian takes a seat by the window regardless.

If he’s going to make this place a regular stop, he may as well plan for the optimum viewpoint.

+

It goes on like this.

+

Sebastian looks up from his phone as his table gains another occupant, and a handsome one at that.

“Blaine,” he greets politely, feeling a smile tug at his mouth.. He sits back in his chair, arms folding over his chest.  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The brunet narrows his eyes, fingers fidgeting absently with the cuffs of his long-sleeved tee. Having already stripped out of his coat and rolled his own sleeves up, Sebastian isn’t quite sure how he’s standing it. The café leans on the stifling side of cozy at the best of times.

“I told you, Sebastian, I have a _boyfriend_.” The last word is stressed meaningfully.

Raising his eyebrows in mock offense, Sebastian gestures grandly to the cooling latte in front of him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just here for the coffee.”

Blaine scoffs, but he is obviously amused. “And the not-so-subtle glances at my ass?”

Sebastian gives in to a genuine smile. “I’m not blind, babe.”

The other man rolls his eyes, pulling again at his cuffs. “Alright, fine. Just so long as we’re on the same page.”

“Down to the letter,” Sebastian agrees, taking a pull from his coffee, which is almost painfully lukewarm at this point. “So now that our cards are on the table, tell me about this guy. I accept defeat much more graciously if I know who I’ve lost out to.”

A flash of a smile and Blaine shifts in his seat, hands dropping under the table. “ I’m sure.” He breaks Sebastian’s gaze, looking out the window to his right. “His name is Eli. We’ve been together since we were seventeen.”

Sebastian lets out a low whistle. “That’s a long time. “

A small shrug. “Sometimes it seems like no time at all.” Blaine hesitates a moment, then pulls out his phone, bringing up the lock screen. He turns it around so Sebastian can see. “That’s him.”

The man in question has nearly a head in height on Blaine, with blond hair and muscled arms pulling Blaine tight against him. He’s not bad looking but, and maybe Sebastian’s biased,  he doesn’t hold a candle to the man sitting across from him.

“Nice,” he offers, not sure what else to say. He’s not usually in this position when it comes to men he’s attracted to. In fact, there are a whole host of other positions he’d rather be in with Blaine, but alas, new leaf. Better person. Keeping it in his pants.

Still.

Before the other man can react, Sebastian plucks his phone neatly out of his hands, and swipes to open, a bit surprised he doesn’t have a passcode.

“What—Sebastian! What are you doing, give it back!” He makes a grab for it, missing as Sebastian leans back out of his reach.

He adds his name and number into Blaine’s contacts, before putting the phone facedown on the table and sliding it back over. Blaine snatches it back, a slightly frantic look about him that puts a damper on Sebastian’s self-satisfaction.

“Relax, killer.” He spreads his palms  innocently. “I don’t have yours, you just have mine. Ball’s in your court. I just figured, what with your wonderful coffee being a bit out of my way, it’d be an easier way to get to know you.” Sebastian catches Blaine’s gaze, hoping his own shows sincere. “As friends. That’s all. Everyone could use another friend, right?”

There’s a long beat of silence and he’s half expecting Blaine to open his phone and delete Sebastian’s number right then and there. Instead, he breaks eye contact at the sound of the bell over the door, getting to his feet. Blaine hesitates only a moment before slipping his phone back into his pocket, a hint of that bright smile from before returning.

“Right.”

+

 

_ 6145550334: now you have mine _

_ sebastian: *contact saved* _

 

+

 

The thing is, Blaine is funny.

Funny, charming, much too nice for his own good. A little naïve, certainly, and way too into comic books (Sebastian wishes he knew what had prompted a five paragraph long diatribe about the movie portrayal of Dr. Doom so he can never, ever do it again) but as sharp as they come, really. 

Sebastian finds himself grabbing his phone throughout the day, a running stream-of-conscious update to share a song lyric he can’t get out of his head, or the latest incident of stupidity from a coworker. He finds himself impatiently waiting for the tell-tale buzz of Blaine’s reply, which will no doubt consist of a surplus of emojis and a half-hearted scolding that he  _ knows _ belies the other man’s amusement. Blaine seems to like it when he’s outrageous, or just plain ‘out there’ as he likes to put it. Sebastian is all too happy to oblige--there aren’t many who can take the full force of his personality in stride.

But for all he is becoming a little too addicted to their conversations, it’s still seeing Blaine in person that he likes best.

More and more often, he finds himself making the trek out to the café during Blaine’s shift, always coming prepared with work to catch up on or a book to more or less feign reading. Plausible deniability is key, especially when Blaine has a terrible habit of bringing up Eli when he thinks Sebastian is starting to cross some sort of line. The boyfriend is the elephant in the room more often than Sebastian would like. He can accept defeat with just as much grace as the next person, honest, but it doesn’t keep him from rankling at the reminder. So he doesn’t want to share Blaine’s attention when he has it--sue him, he was an only child.

Case in point: “Someone’s popular,” Sebastian notes loftily, eying Blaine’s phone as it goes off on the table for the what feels like the dozenth time. He has his friend for ten more minutes before he goes back on shift and he’s not keen on giving up a second of it for whoever is blowing up Blaine’s cell.

The other man winces, flipping the phone over to check the message and typing out a quick reply.

“Sorry, I was supposed to call Eli when I went on break.”

_And so he calls you ten times in a row?_ _Needy much?_ Sebastian thinks but doesn’t say, instead starting back in on his story of the bridezilla-to-be he was stuck in line behind the other day. He soon trails off, however, when he notices he’s never gotten Blaine’s attention back--the other man is still holding tight onto his phone, biting his lip when it vibrates with a message. Perturbed, Sebastian falls silent and simply lifts an eyebrow as he waits for Blaine to notice. His impression of the dim yuppie bimbo had been spot on, and deserved to be appreciated.

The silence stretches for much too long before Blaine notices, glancing up and wincing at the look on Sebastian’s face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m just…” He shakes his head, putting his phone back on the table. “Sorry, tell me again.”

Deciding to be magnanimous in his forgiveness, Sebastian repeats himself, pleased when Blaine laughs and rolls his eyes in turn at all the right places. It’s ridiculously satisfying, watching his reactions and the way they play over his handsome face. It makes the minutes fly by and before he knows it, Blaine is sliding out of his seat with an apologetic wave and wrapping his apron back around his waist. 

Sebastian takes it as his own cue to head out, tossing his trash and heading to the door only to get nearly bowled over by the tall blonde entering the café. “Douchebag,” he grouses under his breath, tempted to say it straight to his face, but not wanting to cause a scene in Blaine’s workplace. 

If Trent could see him now.

He checks his phone by habit through the rest of the day, but other than the repeated messages from Hunter to try to figure out carpooling for the game this weekend, it’s radio silence. Business must’ve picked up after he left the café. He tells himself he’s not disappointed, he’s just conditioned to the sound of his text alert buzzing every few minutes with a weird meme or a ‘omg you need to listen to this song’. But any hope of playing it off is lost when he gets off the treadmill that evening to find a message from Blaine waiting for him and he feels the smile break over his face.

That’s...probably not good. 

_ blaine: hey want to meet up somewhere besides the cafe this week???  _

On the other hand, he thinks, quick to reply in the affirmative, maybe it's about to get a whole lot better.

 

+

 

It starts at the park. It becomes window shopping on 5th and piano bars in the theatre district. It evolves from coffee to lunch, to drinks, to dinner. It shifts from sitting across a table to beside one another on a park bench, feeling Blaine’s arm pressed against his, close enough to smell his cologne. It becomes sleepless nights with his hand tucked under his waistband, thinking of Blaine’s smile, his eyes, his hands wrapped around a mug, a bottle; his fingers touching at pink lips, tracing patterns in spilled salt on the table. It becomes something Sebastian isn’t sure he can handle, something too real and too immediate.

It’s Blaine turning to him, eyes bright and smile brighter before it softens, just for him.

It’s almost perfect.

 

+

 

It falls apart like this.

 

+

 

“Christ, what happened to your face?”

The bruise is dark and livid against Blaine’s jaw, the five o’clock shadow doing a poor job of hiding it. And since Blaine is almost religiously clean-shaven, he knows without a doubt that was the intent.

Shocked, Sebastian doesn’t even realize he’s reaching out a hand  until Blaine is twisting away from him, an agitated look crossing his face.

“Nothing, don’t be dramatic.” The shorter man rolls his eyes. “I tripped on a rug and hit the door frame.”

And it’s plausible, really, Blaine can be a bit of a klutz. But he’s watched him laugh off spilled coffee and whine about clipping his hip on the coffee bar when he takes too sharp of a turn. But neither of those things quite mesh with the way Blaine won’t quite look at him. Something gnaws at Sebastian’s stomach, even as takes the coffee Blaine is impatiently holding out to him.

“That’s…a hell of a hit, killer,” he notes, uneasy. “Did you go to the hospital?”

Another eyeroll and Blaine still isn’t looking at him. “Of course not. It’s just a bruise. Ice a few days and it’ll be good as new.”

Sebastian can’t help but stare. With a mark that ugly, he’s surprised Blaine didn’t break his jaw.

Apparently done with the subject, Blaine turns on his heel with an impatient “Coming?” and swallowing his misgivings, Sebastian follows.

He lets Blaine go on about work as they walk and gives his own automatic responses to questions his week, but he’s hardly paying attention. A picture is forming in the back of his mind and he’s not sure he can deal with what it might be shaping up to be.

Halfway through a light-hearted rant about a customer and custom-ground beans that seems to have put some pep back in Blaine’s step, the other man makes a gesture that draws Sebastian’s eye to his wrist. His left wrist, to be exact, which had just a couple weeks back, he’s remembering, had been sporting a brace.

“How’s your wrist doing?” Sebastian blurts out in the middle of what he’s certain was the punchline, catching Blaine off-guard.

“What?”

“Your wrist,” Sebastian repeats, bringing them to a stop along the path, shifting out of the way of passerby. Blaine is watching him warily,  tucking the arm in question across his chest.

“It’s fine. I just—“

“Fell, I remember. Sprained it when you tried to catch yourself.” His throat feels dry.

“Right. I told—“

“And your lip, last month.” His stomach feels hollow. “You told me you busted it. When you fell.”

Blaine draws in a ragged breath, gaze dropping to the grass under his feet. “You know I’m clumsy, Sebastian. I don’t know…I don’t know what you’re getting at, but…”

Sebastian takes a step closer, shutting his eyes tight for a moment when he sees Blaine flinch.

Swallowing hard, Sebastian lowers his voice, finally reconciling what he’d pettily brushed off as too much of a good thing at the time.  “And that afternoon we went out for lunch, you insisted we eat at the bar. And you stood the whole time.” Even quieter. “Like it would hurt you to sit down.”

Blaine’s breath is coming quicker and quicker, his gaze wide and unblinking as he stares at Sebastian.

“Sebastian.” It’s little more than a whisper and every bit as damning as a shout.

Sebastian’s eyes burn with sudden tears. “Is he hitting you?” His voice is thick in his throat. All this time he’s spent watching Blaine, how the hell did he miss this? “Blaine, is that son of a bitch knocking you around?”

Blaine is already shaking his head, backing away from Sebastian. “No! Christ, Eli doesn’t—he isn’t—it was just a  _ fight _ , Sebastian. God! Everyone….every couple has fights.”

But If there’s one thing about Sebastian that’s never abated over the years, it’s his ability to hold on to something with a bulldog grip. He follows as Blaine retreats, taking them off the path and under the cover of a tree. As far away from prying eyes as he can make it at the moment, but he’s not dropping this.

“Fights, right. So tell me, Blaine, how bashed up is Eli, huh?” He gestures to Blaine’s face. “Does he have a matching one or was he just lucky?”

Blaine looks a half-second away from tears, clutching his forgotten coffee cup like a lifeline. “You don’t understand. He gets…I get…I provoked it, okay? I pushed.”

Sebastian feels lightheaded, a hand coming up to press over his eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

“Sebastian,” Blaine whispers, pausing a moment before stepping closer, putting a hand on Sebastian’s chest. “Don’t…”

“You have to leave him, Blaine. You have to.”

His chest feels like something cracks in it as he watches Blaine shake his head.

“I can’t. I can’t, Sebastian, we’ve been together for five years. We live together, we…” The shorter man visibly gathers himself. “Things aren’t…great, right now, I’m not pretending they are. But I promise, he’s not like that. It’s just…a rough patch. That’s all. I love him. I’m not going to leave him.”

None of it makes sense. Sebastian can only stare at him in disbelief.

“Sebastian?”

Pulling in a sharp breath, Sebastian covers Blaine’s smaller hand where it still rests against his chest, folding it tight within his own.

“I would  _ never _ treat you like that.”

Blaine’s eyes widen in shock, bright and glassy with tears unshed. “I don’t--”

“You  _ do _ , Blaine,” he insists, stepping closer to him, heart thudding in his chest under their joined hands. “You...you have to know how I…” Sebastian swallows against the tightness in his throat. “You have to know how I feel about you.”

“You’re my friend,” Blaine whispers, tugging at the hold on his hand as if to pull away, and Sebastian feels a surge of desperation.

“Of course,  _ of course _ I’m your friend, always, but…” and he’s making an absolute mess of this, he never expected to even  _ get _ to this, and never under circumstances  _ like _ this. He squeezes Blaine’s hand tighter, holding on but not hurting,  _ never  _ hurting. God. 

“But I could be more. I could be...I could be someone you deserve, I promise you.”

But Blaine is shaking his head, shaking all over, and despite the sick swoop in his stomach, Sebastian lets him go when he pulls away again. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I...I can’t.” He takes a deep breath, visibly trying to gather himself. “Eli...he needs me, Sebastian. And I need him. I love him.”

”Would you stop saying that?” Sebastian bites out, his temper flaring at the helplessness he’s feeling. “Jesus Christ, Blaine, are you seriously trying to convince me you’re happy? That that’s the life you want for yourself?”

“What am I supposed to do?” Blaine all but hisses at him in return. “He’s...he’s been my whole world since I was seventeen! He’s the only one who--”

“He’s  _ not. _ ” Sebastian reaches for him. “Not the only one, Blaine, not anymore. Just listen to me--”

“No.” The shorter man shakes his head, taking a step back, raising a hand to dash the tears from his eyes. “I can’t do this with you. I...I have to go.”

Sebastian feels like something in his chest is caving in, rejection suddenly a pale comparison to the fear of Blaine walking away and that being the end of it. “No, don’t go. Please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to throw that on you. Forget it, it’s not important, just...don’t leave, okay?”

But Blaine is already putting distance between them, eyes still red but features determined. “I’m sorry, I am, I know...I know you’re trying to be a good friend and I know…” The words seem to fail him, as if acknowledging what Sebastian just laid on the line is just one step too far.

“Blaine.” A plea.

“I’m sorry, Sebastian.” Without another word, Blaine turns from him and heads back to the path, hunched over like he’s trying to escape the sensation of Sebastian’s eyes on his back.

In the end, there’s nothing left to do but for Sebastian drag himself home in a haze, collapsing on his couch and pouring himself a finger of vodka. Then another, and another still, until he’s numb to the worry and the heartbreak.

His phone is silent.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Another WIP, I know, but my intention to finish seven fics in a month was crazy, so bear with me! Title is from Morning Calls by Dashboard Confessional, because A Mark, A Mission, A Brand, A Scar is 100% a Seblaine album, fight me about it. 
> 
> This is the last day of Seblaine Week and though I may still be adding another fic (fashionably late), I just wanted to real quick say thanks to everyone who has kudosed, and reblogged and commented on my fics for this challenge. This is my first foray into the fandom and my first time writing in a couple years, so this was just such a positive experience and I hope to be able to share more with you guys. <33


End file.
